Sage
by Ruejays
Summary: Sage Mellark is forced to compete in the 4th Quarter Quell in a battle no one will forget.


**The Hunger Games**

Part 1: An Entrance

_Prologue_

It was a terrible darkness, and it's rather ironic that it happened to occur on a breezy spring evening full of crickets chirping quietly. But there were also birds tweeting simple tunes, and peaceful bouts of breezy wind. A perfect time for fresh outdoor walks in nature and lazy conversations between elderly neighbors that knew each other from kindergarten. If they lived that long. The mountains loomed above, as if trying to protect the village from any harm while still trying to catch the last minutes of sun. Trees flowed effortlessly over the mountains, through the streams, and down into small, bowl-like valleys. Numerous sounds of the forest echo for many miles. Animals, such as cats and bears, roam around, enjoying the last part of a somewhat eventful afternoon. Fish settle down in nooks and crannies underwater. The crickets still chirp with determination but the birds have lost their main chorus. Just a few still sing, as if they would know it's getting closer.

It was just a typically small mountainous town watching the very last rays of the sun streak lazily across the sky, bidding farewell to its rather few inhabitants. There wasn't even a foreboding cloud to be seen among the miles of bluish fading to black. A few crows flew high over the clump of buildings. The woods, the mountains, everything is easily appreciated. The evening is a learning experience. Nights as good as this did not come very often, so it really was a shame. A shame because not a single person around was enjoying it. Hardly anyone was even outdoors. The exception being everyone gathered frightfully in the grimy, cramped city square. They weren't enjoying it either.

No one listened to the peaceful sounds. Ignoring them was rude to nature, but lives were at stake and nobody favored the lives of their children over tall trees.

Everyone else was shut deep inside the bowels of their misshapen houses hunched over on moth-eaten couches or swaying on rickety chairs, staring very fearfully at small, run down, television screens. They weren't alone either. Their closest gathered around the few small screens too. Friends and cousins, in-laws and sometimes even outlaws, but no one cared at the time because they had the same fear. But the rooms were mostly occupied by young children. Or teenagers. Hunched kids hardened with hard work and endless labor. Life wasn't easy for them. Starvation showed easily through the young ones. Hollow bones and protruding ribs. Their eyes resembled those of wild creatures like squirrels and rabbits. Always alert, always hungry, always hungry, always fearful. Fear showed the most through their large young eyes. Especially now, when they knew what was coming. After all, it concerned them the most. It was _their _lives at stake. Not that they'd make it to adulthood anyway. Maybe in better conditions, but not here. Fear showed somewhere else too. Through the older ones. Parents eyes were hardened slightly, but they could hardly contain it. They had to be strong, for the children. Their children. The odds were slim but so, so, so possible. They just couldn't be gone that fast, could they? It was a little bit easier because they were more familiar with the tragedies. Growing up around something your whole life, and it's annual. Losses became normal and not so protruding over the many years. I mean, they've been doing this for a century! A few couples hug. Others sit in their homes to, but they have no one left to love. To lose. So they guess the odds and problems. Calculating tons of facts helps cover your mind from the loss of loved ones. From this or other fatalities.

Small accidents tend to screw themselves deep inside you because you know they're so simple, yet they killed so many. Easy mistakes like falling and tripping. It's murdered thousands. Water is one of man's greatest enemies and friends. Every object can hurt, or at least that's what those people think, the ones with no one left to love, nothing left to care for. But back to the families with someone to lose. They sit silently, waiting for the likely death sentences. Suddenly, everyone's hearts leaped simultaneously in cold anticipation. This is what they've been waiting for. And it's a channel flashing on the cracked screens in town. The pixelated color replaces the gray, crackling, useless static.

Two very absurd looking people were lounged complacently side by side on clear glass chairs as tall as they were. In front of them laid a long plexiglass table. The walls in the background harbored a light playful orange, like a nursery room. One of them was a woman that seemed to be in her mid-twenties. She proudly wore with a huge fanned purple hat, a skinny silk dress, and shimmering high heels. The other was a man decked entirely in an ecstatic orange far from the peaceful olor in the background. This orange jarred the viewers eyes with a multiplied neon effect. The ecstatic color showed brightly from his completely square top hat to his shining rubber boots that didn't reach the wooden floor because the chair was so remarkably tall. "Oh, I think this is going to be an exciting one this year," the woman chided in an obnoxious accent made of clipped consonants and long vowels. Of course, the accent was custom and very appropriate far away where she lived. Back in the small town though, it was like talking gibberish, or Japanese. "Remember the last quells?" she asked interestedly, still ever annoying with her accent.

"The first one was rather boring," the orange man claimed with a disappointed expression. He had the same emphasis. "The 50th was exciting. It had me on the exact edge of my seat when that ghastly volcano erupted. Even you couldn't have predicted that," the purple lady gasped. "Please Delaney, the 75th was more thrilling. Who could have thought there would be no Cornucopia, no sponsors, _and_ no other life? It's positively thrilling to the very end" The two argued about which quell was more heart pounding, and that included waving their arms in ridiculous poses trying to act out which killing scene was the absolute best. It was rather humorous to see two reporters dressed in funny clothing bludgeon invisible thirteen-year-olds. At least it is humorous to us, but not to the people watching from their place far away, who would have acted the same and commented that it wasn't good enough. It wasn't funny to the people in the small town, whose friends and family had be the ones killed. Then finally, after a particularly gruesome display of choking and axe throwing, the orange reporter man huffed defeatedly, "Well we'd better get straight to it then."

The families leaned closer. They didn't want to see those reporters laugh and make fun of their relatives deaths. They wanted to know who would be next in line to possible get pelted in the face by knives. The camera flashed to a small, dimly lit room where a tall man stood patiently. He had black neat hair and beard dressed a black suit, standing out against the pale peach wall. His eyes were temporarily hidden in shadow which was rather fortunate as his eyes were a deep unforgiving blue tinged with sadness and anger and revenge and utter hatred. A small boy in a suit with yellow hair came up with a brown box. The man nodded reassuringly to the kid and opened it slowly. Thousands of yellow packages lay neatly stacked in rows. The people at home shivered. There would be many more after this one. He withdrew one of the small, yellow envelope with the utmost care as if it were a time bomb. It was for the groups huddled in their homes.

The young child closed the chocolate brown box and stepped away. The newly taken envelope shined mischievously in the concentrated light of the small room. Small families at home hugged each other while kids shivered anxiously. The man opened it carefully and said, "In the first quarter quell, to show that it was the districts that brought this upon them, they had to vote who would be chosen as tribute. In the fiftieth annual Hunger Games, to remind you that for every two rebels were killed a Capitol citizen died, twice as many tributes were brought into the games.

"In the third quarter quell, to explain that no help comes in the darkest times, the tributes had no means of gifts to help them win. To prove that things must be in order and the games must be played despite the past, the tributes of this year's Hunger Games will be reaped from past contenders children.'' The suited man finished his speech, folded the note back up, slipped it quietly in his pocket, and stepped off the camera. Most families sighed with relief that their kids were safe for another year. That they will have a better chance of seeing next spring and beyond. That they won't fight to the death on live television in front of the world. Everyone but two families, two very unfortunate families that knew one of their kids might not live long enough to see the next spring.

_Chapter One_

I get up stealthily from my wooden-framed bed as my feet slip comfortably into my leather shoes and tiptoe out of the room through a door opened ajar. I walk faintly through the hallway like a ghost to the metal kitchen. The place looks spotless, and it's no surprise. I have trouble keeping my shoes from squeaking against the tiles rubbed smooth by hours of work from our maid, Diala. Diala is a good friend of mine, though she never talks and makes me feel like having a one on one conversation with myself. My mom hired her because she doesn't want to do the work herself. I've heard she was imported from the Capitol but don't confuse her with an avox. Diala's been here as long as I can remember. She's one of my only friends, since no one at school wants to be friends with... you know. Grabbing what I essentially need for my predicted trip and stuffing it into a simple leather bag, I at long last reach the door. I swing it open and step cautiously outside. I survey the area. The summer morning was not as stifling as it would soon get. Crowded, crooked pines stand in clumps along the road. Not a single clouds peeks the pink and orange dawn. A lane of abandoned houses line themselves up side by side with mine. Nothing from the outside has made it inside for a hundred years, but construction crews come every twenty-five years, just in case.

The houses have always been abandoned because they're only for... you know. I start to the graveled dirt road. It looked recently made but I knew better. Hardly anyone treads these roads. The paths seem to bring back terrible, dark memories. We have the reputation close to a cemetery. But the Capitol reporters and photographers don't get the obvious memo. They frankly don't get anything at all. None of them do. I've had to hide from them my whole life, because of who I am. It's like being a superstar as a toddler. When they come I usually put my head down and hide. The small trail swerves into a larger path heading towards the main bulk of District 12. Halfway through I pause to catch my breath and eat some cheese I packed. I begin to hike on again. The travel is refreshing and calming. All by myself with the wind blowing through my messy hair and the rising sun warming my back. Only the pines and gurgling streams to comfort me. The air as my only friend. No one to stare at me nervously as I walk in the hallways of my school, no one to avoid conversation with me at home, no one to bother my already somewhat miserable life, no one to see me and think _Oh that poor, poor darling_.

Of course, they already do that. Because I'm the victor's daughter, and we somehow cause bad luck or something. I think my nemesis Pete Doyle started that rumor at school but it hasn't died down. Everybody still avoids me like I have some incurable disease. Then from a distance they shake their heads and frown. I have made many friends yet in my lifetime. I had been getting this kind of evasive and condolence filled treatment ever since they, the wretched Capitol, announced the supposedly thrilling news about the 100th anniversary of the Hunger Games. They comment that it will be "fantastic" and the "best quell yet." The Capitol is piped up that there will be victors from the past Games children.

I have to admit the I was at first scared out of my mind, but I soon learned to half forget it. District 12 makes you tough like that. You have to deal with the awful but inevitable. The thought still laid in the back of my mind like an assassin's dagger that I kept circling around, just barely clear of harming range. That method had perfectly without incident worked up until yesterday, when I unluckily remembered that tomorrow was the dreaded reaping. The haunting day when my name will be written on a neat little slip of pearl-white paper and thrown in with only one other simple slip. That second small slip in that big glass bowl will be for Haymitch Abernathy daughter, Mayda Jay Trinket. Mayda lives with her mother, Effie Trinket, in the shining and shimmering Capitol ever so far away in a land of magical food and fancy clothing.

We have never been friends, mainly because I detest the Capitol like everyone else in District 12 and Mayda doesn't even like her father because he acts like a hog like everyone else in District 12. Our only similarity is that we're both somewhat tormented about the odds of the reaping. The reaping is a big step in the beginning of that killer cycle of an annual festival known as the Hunger Games. After the reaping, in which you are picked as a very unlucky tribute to be thrown into a treacherous, unforgiving arena. If the wild doesn't kill you, the fight to the death against twenty-three other innocent children will likely. That likely is the fact that only one person survives. If you do make it out, you still have the endless tormenting nightmares, but you live in luxury for the rest of your life as assured by the Capitol. Luxury won't keep you not thinking about the Games though, as shown by my parents.

There have only been four victors from District 12 in a hundred years. Codmen Hollen is the first one. I don't even know this guy, it's been so long ago. Long before I was born, and in that me non-existing list is Haymitch Abernathy's game. His had been the fiftieth quarter quell so he might be helpful in the genre. At last there is my mom and dad. Famous star-crossed lovers, couldn't live without each other, nightlock berries are poisonous so lets use them to kill ourselves unless they let us be victors together. Yeah, that kind of couple.

A suddenly sool wind hits my cheek. I'm getting closer to District 12. Closer to the reaping. I'm coming back to the whole Mayda Trinket hating my guts kind of thing. Don't think I'm guessing, because Mayda has definitely proven her hatred. My mom generously but half-heartedly invited them over for a simple dinner full of my dad's bread rolls and Diala's mash potatoes and gravy. Something of a luxury to my family. Mayda was devoting her whole dinner shooting me glares from the asparagus appetizers and through the main course. Even when she asked for the peas and I now realize that was on purpose just to glare at me. She also was bratty during a rather enjoyable dessert of strawberry cake and small chocolate donuts, and especially we said goodbye. She absolutely loathed me with just about every ounce of her make-up covered, dressy, sassy, sparkle self. She has made it more than clear just how much she doesn't like me and I'm more than certain she will definitely _not _volunteer for me as you can do at the reaping. I won't do that for her either.

Before long I'm snapped out of my troubled thoughts by the ghostly district square. Townspeople should be happily buzzing around buying essentials like food, cloth, or at least chatting with their nearby neighbors about a wedding, new sale on chicken, or some crazy rabid dog attack, but the crooked streets are empty with not a single whisper to be heard. Doors shut, shutters closed. Not a soul in sight. Not even the beggars or homeless orphans not put into the harsh orphanages up north in District 12. No one wants to be disturbed today, because today is the day of the reaping. Even if they're not actually going, it's a day of dread and sadness for the two hundred tributes dead and the tributes still to come.

I walk alone until I reach the Hawthorne's house. Gale is my mom's really good friend. They used to go hunting together, until Gale started going to the mines and my mom started raising kids. I don't really know Gale, but I like to talk with his wife Hansa. Hansa Hawthorne used to come over and babysit me when my parents went to the Capitol every year and to interviews. She taught me lots of life lessons during that time and I understand her more than I do anybody else in my life, and I don't understand a lot of people. Hansa is always open to people's varied problems. I knock on the door and wait patiently. I don't want to wake them up. The door creaks and out pops Gale's daughter, Susie. Susie is a sweet three-year-old with curly pigtails and a cheerful smile. Today is no exception to her small smile and I gladly return it. Susie then leads me inside and I take a seat on one of their dining chairs, the only ones they have. Gale has probably left to work in the coal mines of District 12. District 12's main industry is coal, which is what we ship to the Capitol. The other eleven districts have products like livestock to fishing to textiles but small District 12 is stuck with coal mining. A dangerous, dirty job.

The district is practically made of the foul stuff. Because of size and industry, District 12 is neglected. That was until my mom and dad showed up to the Capitol with their star-crossed love. Now the district gets more attention, but I've been careful to avoid the cameras. When they made the announcement though, everyone just has to see the maybe tributes of the Hunger Games. And who would've thought they'd be the victors children? The Capitol must be pulling their pink and orange hair out right now just waiting to see us shine, then be stabbed in the back. Hansa silently appears right around the corner carrying a wooden basket full of dirty laundry. She smiles kindly at me as if she knows what I'm going through (which she probably does) then goes outside to hang the laundry on a white clothesline. "Wanna see what I made?" Susie asks me. "Sure" I reply warily and follow her into a small dusty room lined with two beds and a tiny, two-story bookshelf.

I can easily see big cracks in the boards that let in the chilling air at the dead of night. Susie grabs my hand in her very small one and leads me steadily over to the small bookshelf where she pulls out a little yellow straw doll wrapped in red and blue rags. I can tell she worked extra hard on it. The stitching and sewing is messy and bits of the doll are frayed and patched, but I know through her eyes it's a masterpiece. Then she looks at me hopefully and I smile at her. Susie lights up at my acceptance and gives a little squeal of pure delight, then cheerfully presents me the whole house again even though I've been here before countless times. Susie consistently loves to show people all around her abode. From the messy kitchen to her parents room, Susie wants everyone currently attendending to know exactly what goes on in each part. I glance Hansa from time to time working on the countless piles of dishes or scrubbing the rough floor planks. When it's finally time for me to go back home and hour or two later, Susie says goodbye with obvious disappointment. I'm just about to depart when I feel a slight tapping on my right shoulder. I turn back to see Hansa looking at me with a forlorn expression. "Good luck," she whispers, barely audible. Then she turns back to her continuous cleaning and I exit the door.

The long walk home seems much longer than it did coming to the district. Maybe because I'm weighed down heavily by the thoughts of the Hunger Games. The thoughts of being in a scary, merciless place, having to kill one another in a gory battle to the death while the Capitol citizens frolic and faint in despair when the person they were betting on gets knifed. Why? It's our punishment for starting a huge rebellion against them a hundred years ago. According to the Treaty of Treason written after they bombed a district and controlled the rest, every year we are forced to offer up one boy and one girl ages twelve to eighteen and have them compete in a battle to the death on live television in front of all Panem. In front of the scared families at home and the joyful people five thousand miles away. I can only hope I'm not picked. But if I am... _I'll deal with it when it comes _I assure myself as I hesitate in front of the big door I passed not too long ago. Then I yank it open and walk solemnly through.

My dad is inaudibly sitting on a three-legged stool painting a picture of an orange daylily. He doesn't look up as I walk in. I think he suspected I was out for a walk to clear my head. I avoid eye contact. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The silence is interrupted by the shuffle of my feet as I slowly start towards my room to be alone when I'm met by my brother, Argo. Exchanges between Argo and I have been as few as the ones with Mayda, my dad, Hansa, and everyone else. And for the same reason. My brother could get picked too. Him or Haymitch's son, Colden. I've dodged Argo for the last few months since they announced it. Every time I look at him I regretfully think _Hope he doesn't get picked_.

I pass him to my quiet haven where I flop on my bed and hopelessly stare at the ceiling as if asking it for advice. What am I going to do? Be prepared to die, I bet the wall would answer. I reluctantly glance at the clock hanging on the wall to my left on my white nightstand. It reads 11:32. I had better get ready for the reaping. I then get up from my comfy bed, take a long, relaxing shower and dress in a simple white gown with a brown skirt to my ankles that cover my brown reaping shoes, one of my aunt Prim's I suppose. Just thinking of my aunt Prim makes my heart sink.

One day, when I was five, my mom tucked me in and said goodnight. Only I didn't fall asleep because I was wondering why she put me to bed so early. It was only 7:00. My curious young self crept out of bed, tip-toed stealthy down the hall, and to the kitchen where I saw my aunt and her husband, Nike. I used to come over and play with their three-year-old son, Tammy. Prim always gave us cookies and played toys with us on occasion. She was my fun aunt I consistently saw. That was why I was wondering why exactly aunt Prim's shoulders were shaking uncontrollably and tears leaked down her face. Why was Nike comforting her like that? Just one more unusual thing to add to my already confusing week. On Monday, a couple kids didn't show up to school. The numbers grew larger and the days grew shorter until Friday was cancelled. When I innocently asked my mom to go over to her house, like I do everyday, my mom shook her head and said something my five-year-old ears made sense into a no, somebody was sick. My mom didn't go shopping in the square either. Kids at school were coughing one day, then they're gone the next. The air had a stale, dull feeling and I didn't want to play in the first snow. But why was aunt Prim still crying? I never knew the answer until much later on my twelfth winter, when a plague of the disease titled, deconog, hit again. I never did go back to Prim's house. Maybe it would give me too many bad memories of the child I played with, or maybe I would give Prim too many bad memories of the child she doesn't have. I pull out of my sad thoughts as I straighten my skirt and look one last time in the tall fancy mirror. I give a fake smile to myself and think _At least I'll look nice_. But nice wouldn't exactly describe it. Acceptable, maybe, but not nice. I don't really look nice with my tangled brown hair clumsily tied into a bun and my tall legs. I look too skinny and too tall and too abnormal and too everything. At long last I square my shoulders and somewhat confidently step out of my room, warily making my way to the front door. "Wait," someone says. I turn to see my dad facing toward me with a pained expression. He's still on the stool he sat on earlier, completely unchanged except for his blossom which has a few stiff leaves and bright green buds. We stare at eachother for a few moments, an unspoken conversation passing between us. My dad wants me to be safe, whether or not I do or don't go to the Hunger Games.

I turn and walk out the door down the road I may never ever go back on again. When I get there the only people in the square are the ones who are betting on us (half of them will be right.) The mayor, Haymitch Abernathy, and Effie Trinket sit rather stiffly in small white chairs in front of the small stage before the looming Justice Building. Cameras stay positioned firmly on us, eager to catch every miniscule moment of our torture. The four of us stand in a defenseless clutch. We watch the footage of how awful the rebellion was on us and District 13, which was a graphite mining town, obliterated during the hard fought war. We rebelled for a reason. Because the Capitol was treating us like rag dolls and unfortunately, they still are.

The mayor gets up and gives a small speech, then fully recites the Treaty of Treason. He seems guilty. Maybe because he hasn't memorized the twenty-paragraph document by heart. Then Effie Trinket herself gets up to the stage. She's less bubbly than she is at the other four reapings where I've seen her, knowing that the odds are probably not in her own children's favor. "L-ladies first," she stutters, which sounds really odd with her Capitol accent. Then she stumbles over to the decently sized clear glass bowl and nervously shifts through the two slips, fiddling around. She's shivering as she pulls out a small clean white piece of paper. Effie opens it ever so slowly. You can hear the wind whistle eerily through the houses. Ghostlike and abandoned. Like you're in an endless echoing room of dead silence. Nothing. As if time stopped moving. I check the clock hanging on the pale white wall of the Justice Building to make sure that time had _not_ stopped moving. The innocent slip finally opens ever so slowly. The name is then revealed to all of the world. A death sentence rings to the sky. Two simple syllables ending all happiness that exists in this barren, silent world of torturing pain. Before she even says it, you can easily see the relief spread across her face and the fear clutch my heart, driving it into the first stage on the train to losing insanity. Then she says it, solemn, but not as solemn as before. But there's emotion in her voice of some sort. She liked my parents, she liked them a lot. Maybe she is afraid she would lose them as friends completely, that they would blame her and accuse her for saying simply uttering to the people of Panem, "Sage Mellark."

_Chapter Two_

I get the sudden, chilling feel like time really slowed and now everything's happening in slow-motion like a dramatic movie. Except I'm not romantically running towards my lover in a meadow full of daisies. I'm shuffling to the stage and the trip seems like voyage across seas. The white-cloaked peacekeepers take me to the Justice Building and I'm in a claustrophobic room with a small crystal chandelier and a soft velvet couch. Then it's as everything that occured joltingly starts is speeding up again very fast, and then it hits me full force in the chest. I gasp as if I've been holding my breath underwater for the longest time. I'm going to the Hunger Games. To the Capitol with fancies and weird-accented people. To the terrifying arena where I'm going to kill the victor's own children in a bloody battle to the death. To have it broadcasted live to all of Panem. How did this happen? It seemed unreal, inexact. Like a dream, or a nightmare, but it was always happening to someone else, some other tribute, some other girl, some other victor's daughter. Going to the Hunger Games was just this mysterious looming fear that clouded everyone far above the earth.

Having happen really truly happen to you was a completely different story. It was being shot from District 12 on earth in a large cannon and pass through layers of puffy white clouds until you reach the cold dark gray foreboding ones. Feel the cold wind whip your hair back and feel the icy raindrops tingle against your skin, turning to ice and freezing your veins. Hear the lightning crackle in your ears and the thunder boom in your head. I you wonder when it will end but it won't, it will never end it's tragic yet impenetrable power, limitless and merciless.

I have been sitting on the velvet couch for so long I don't noticed that three people are standing next to me. I look up hopefully to see Hansa, Gale, and Susie staring sadly down at me. Hansa is the first and leans down next to me and says in the sweetest voice I had ever heard, "Good luck, Sage." Hansa reluctantly leaves the room and Gale turns at me. I stare back into his gray eyes full of loss and hatred and sorrow. I know what he sees in me. He sees my mother, the girl he befriended years ago. The girl he didn't come to her wedding and ignored her in anger. The girl he had been the best hunting partner to. The girl he had spent most of seven years with. The girl he had unfortunately learned to love. The girl who had broken his unhealing heart. "Don't die" he musters, rather plainly, then he's gone. I finally glance at the little happy girl with pigtails that smiles at me everytime I see her, including this morning. Whether Susie knows I going to probably die or not, I can tell she's sad. She knows somewhat that I'm going away for a while, maybe forever. I open my arms. Susie embraces me, then sits comfortably on my lap. I realize she still holding that straw doll she proudly presented to me earlier. Susie gently pulls of a golden bracelet off the doll's arm and places the band in my hand. I smile and try my best not to burst into traumatic tears.

Susie hops up and departs but before she completely disappears behind the cracked door she whispers three simple words to me. "We jump together." Then she's gone leaving me a tad clueless. What does she mean, we jump together? I ponder on the interesting thought until someone else comes in. It's my dad, who looks about as bad as I feel. "Hey," is the only thing he can say. He sits next to me on the velvet couch and wraps me in his arms. We sit there silently a while up until the peacekeepers appear and say our time is up. "Bye dad," I say as he leaves. He gives me one last sad small smile, then the famous Peeta Mellark is gone.

I step out of the room, escorted by the peacekeepers, and I'm surprised to find Colden standing stiffly next to me. Why is he here? Then, as if in a dreary slow-motion filled haze, I remember Argo being called and Colden volunteering for him despite Effie's completely distraught expression. _Why?_ I wonder again as we're shoved into the red automobile that will take us to the train station and on the road to the Capitol.

The ride is eerily silent except for the squeaks of sobs delivered by Effie. People stare at us through the shaded windows. Some stares are accusing, others pitiful. I turn away from them. I don't deserve their pity. I also can't help but feel bad for Effie Trinket. She did encourage my parents somewhat during their stay. There are going to be more cameras at the station, so I try to hold myself together. I can't lose it now. That would crush any good reputation I already have. Colden seems to be doing well as he's blank board. We step out onto the rusty platform and cameras begin to click madly at us as if we won't be here again. We probably will not be. Effie grabs us together and leads us onto the sleek shiny metal train that will take us on tracks to the adoring fans that saw us as superstars in less than two minutes.

The train initiates to speed smoothly along the track and I find myself staring longingly back at home were my parents and brother are probably worried sick that I might not make it back to them. I heard from Effie that they couldn't couldn't bring themselves to mentor me into a battle to the death, but Haymitch has volunteered. My mom wouldn't let me near Haymitch since he's usually drunk and raging, but that doesn't make sense because she's usually drinking with him. Hansa is at home cleaning dishes or doing laundry but she might be thinking about me. Susie won't be going to school because they've cancelled. No one really wants to learn about coal by products anyway. They're all wondering if I'll survive. Colden isn't cared about a lot though.

Everyone's hooked on the girl on fire's descendant. I feel bad for Colden. Neglected and with a drunk dad, far away mom, and snotty sister. Nobody cares what he thinks about all of this. The Capitol won't be giving him a second chance. Argo will be helping my mom recover but my dad. Will he still be sitting on that stool every single day? I remember being around six and asking him why he likes to paint so much. He just smiled sadly and went back to his canvas. I never questioned him about it again. Maybe it helps him cope. I can figure out how everyone else must be acting but him. How does Gale feel? Is he sad, is he worried, is he angry... does he not care at all? I flip my gaze from the window to the train car. This one is designed like a fancy Capitol restaurant must be, with menus and pepper shakers. Ornate tables with fluffy cushion seats. Fancy yellow lamps give little light to the others, mainly Colden, Effie, and yes, Haymitch sitting in a corner drinking a dark blue bottle who knows what. I gradually get up and stride over to him.

Haymitch only acknowledges me when I'm poised at least three inches from his misshapen face, which is really hard to accomplish since his breath smells so strongly of liquor. He finally looks up and I gladly take a seat awkwardly in the elongated chair parallel from him. "How... do we survive?" I ask him. He stares at me intensely until I fidget. Then he bursts out laughing like a maniac. "How do we survive?" he says in an annoying imitation of me. I'm fed up getting advice from idiots, but he's my mentor and I have to keep my tongue. At least that's what my brain says, but I still do something I certainly didn't anticipate. I bolt up and slam my fist down on the table. Haymitch's multi-colored drink totters, then plummets to the floor and brakes on the ground, staining the expensive carpet. "Hey, look mister, one of us is going to live and one of us isn't," I pause and give him a menacing glare while pointing at Colden innocently playing _Go Fish_ with Effie to help her calm down, "and if you decide to choose your son over me, I understand completely. But I'm _not _going to play innocent, hopeless tribute thrust into the Hunger Games for everyone to pity. Boo hoo to people he think I will be. And as for you, you'd better give us somewhat reasonable survival lessons right now, or so help me I'll find them somewhere else." For final effect I storm off to my room, making sure everyone present in the previous train car hears the door slam.

I retreat to fling myself on the pillows and just lay there. Why did this happen to me? To me? My tears begin to leak onto the plush, pearl-white pillows. My sob is muffled by the equally pearl-white sheets. It wasn't fair that I should have to go to die when my friends and family wait helplessly for whether or not I'm going to die or come back with nightmares. They're hopeless back at home, and even more hopeless here. I cry and cry until there's no more tears left. Then I just curl up there, shivering under my covers even though it's late afternoon.

Effie calls me to dinner so I regretfully clamber to my feet and stumble through the door. The restaurant car is the same as I last saw it, completely authentic. Everyone is at a long bronze table piled high with a large variety of food I've never even seen before. From pink grapes to white soups. The meal includes Haymitch's favorite part. The refreshments. I flunk down in a chair away from them. I want to eat in peace and quiet while I still learn to cope with my disastrous fate. They're worried that if they ask me concerned questions I'll just burst out sobbing again and run to my room. I have to admit that I am afraid of that possibility too. They start so quickly as soon as I sit down I begin to wonder if they were waiting for me. Like they care about me enough to eat only when I finally arrived. _Nonsense_, I tell myself, but I can't help wondering... No, they don't care about you. No one cares about you. Well, maybe the fans in the Capitol do, but nobody here. You're a tribute in the Hunger Games. You need to grow a backbone. None of this crying and sobbing and woe is me, you're going to win this because your fierce not gentle. I start eating a little bit happier after a pep talk with myself. Far from Career style, but close enough.

That night I lay in my bed and wonder what the day will be like tomorrow. Will my adoring fans soon grow uninterested in me? There's twenty-three other children they're looking forward to also. Twenty-two most likely because I'm not sure Colden has at least one fan yet. District 12 hasn't gotten very famous over the years. After my mom and dad's performance of star-crossed love though, I think the audience has warmed up to us. What do I do with Colden again? Nothing, I'll just let him die in the arena. I personally don't want to kill him myself, but if I am to win these games, and I plan to, then I must do what I must to survive...

"It's going to be a big, big, day!" I hear Effie say behind the closed door to my room. She seems not so excited. Maybe because it's the next big, big, big day until her son dies. Still half-asleep I walk to the shower and clean, then slip on the clothes laid out for me. A simple black T-shirt and shorts with shoes. I pull my hair into a braid like yesterday at the reaping. I walk out and Effie clasps her hands together and exclaims, "You look just like your mother." I awkwardly grab a bagel with whipped cream, grapes, and for the sake of trying something new, a cup full of dark brown liquid. As if reading my mind Effie says that it's hot chocolate. "Why don't people call it melted chocolate?" I ask her. Effie just laughs robotically and directs me to a seat in front of Colden. He's staring at his baby carrots like they're about to give his death sentence, but the Capitol made sure of that.

After breakfast Haymitch finally gives us the much needed first piece of advice. I lean in to catch every word. Haymitch started eating vegetables when Colden was born and it's helped his appearance somewhat. But it doesn't clear the reek of peas on his breath. I scoot a little bit back in my small metal chair. "No matter what the stylists do, don't object." "Why?" I immediately reply. Haymitch rolls his eyes and says, "You want people to like you. Being the child of a victor will only get you so far," he and Colden look at each other and have a five second telepathic conversation that I question suspiciously, then he explains, "The Capitol thinks you are your parents, so you have to act how your parents would. It's a like bringing the victors back for round two." He basically asking us to _not _be ourselves. That's the easy part. Then he asks us to be someone else, our parents. I don't know my parents past lives so well, especially not when they were in the Capitol, how the citizens will know them. Haymitch is gone and we're left alone except for Capitol avoxes that roam around cleaning up our breakfast.

Avoxes are servants for the Capitol. They in someway betrayed them and had their tongues cut or something like that. They're silent as ghosts. Effie says we can just ask them to do whatever we want them to, but I don't believe in slave labor. Joltingly the train car goes completely dark and I wonder if the lights went out, but we would still see the sun, and the lamps still faintly glow. The train is still moving at a remarkably fast pace. I realize we must be in some kind of long tunnel. I never like tunnels because they remind me of the mines in District 12 that I've seen on our field trips there to learn about more coal related subjects like we do everyday. The mines are dark, stinky and claustrophobic. I think of the thousands of pounds of pure gray rock crushing me and I get goose bumps. The light suddenly reappears and I'm temporarily blinded by the glare. When my eyes adjust I get the first look at the place that will be my prison for the next few days, and it's like nothing I've ever seen before in my life.

If I could describe the Capitol with one word it would be... eccentric. It was also dazzling, fantastic, quirky, characteristic, abnormal, but overall eccentric. Towering skyscrapers the height of large mountains reach into the sky as if trying to touch the stars. Down below, small figures that at first look like tiny dots of odd color, turn out to be people milling around in the golden, gleaming metropolis. I think of the small, shabby, abandoned homes in west District 12. How can people prance as they please in a luxury, yet we struggle in a dreary communities?

I try to fathom how as we pull closer and closer to the Capitol. People's reactions are exaggerated, even comical. An all male group dressed completely in green starts jumping up and down like school children getting candy. A trio with coordinating colors of blue, black, and electric yellow wave frantically at us as if their lives depended on it. An old lady in white with matching long white lace gloves actually screams, though we don't hear her through the metal train exterior, and kisses the frantic, short man to her right. He goes as deep shade of a red his coat but the train whisks us away before we can see everyone else and into the huge glass station.

Light floods through the large panels and illuminates everything around us. Excited passerby do everything from clapping to blowing kisses. Other smaller trains like ours whisk Capitols all over the city. This is the main subway station. Far in the distance I saw the real stations carrying coal and wool and wood. The stuff we give to them. This station is the biggest passenger station. I blearily step out of the doors with Colden, who looks as amazed as I am. Coming from the small desolate district 12, the real life Capitol is a lot to take in during five minutes. The two of us stand there gawking like idiots. Thankfully Effie has already see this and pulls us together in a somewhat orderly fashion. Cameras and reporters greet us with thousands of different questions: "What's it like back in District 12?" and "How do you think this quell will turn out? Are you ready to win?" They sound like annoying bees buzzing in my ear. Then I'm shoved into a car and driving to meet my "prep" team.

My prep team turns out to be a very weird trio, just like everyone else in the Capitol. Octavia, the first one, has apparently dyed herself a green, but mixed it with blue and now she's a blue-green. Flavius is a guy with weird orange hair and a gleaming smile that's seems a little too big. The woman with blue short hair and tattoos all over her body is Venia. The word _eccentric_ still rings in my mind. "I remember when we did your mother, beautiful woman she was," Octavia says in a far-off voice. "Yes, and she never put up a fuss," Venia comments. "I'm glad she had survived or her hair would be useless!" Flavius exclaims and then they all laugh robotically. The conversation goes from parties to Katniss's hair to the new blue and back to Katniss's hair. I get the feeling that they're very, very fond of my mother's braid. After I'm pricked and pinched for what seems like forever, they say I'm ready for my stylist. I wait embarrassedly while they cue him. My stylist turns out to be some dexterous guy in a plain gray shirt and frayed shorts. The only makeup I see on him is gold eyeliner. He seems like a nice guy and I think I can trust him... maybe. "Put your robe on and we'll have lunch," he says, then he leaves.

I come out and meet him in another white room with a window overlooking the Capitol. "Pretty, isn't it?" he asks. He turns his view of the Capitol to me and smiles. Our lunch is turkey sandwiches with peas and potatoes. My stylist breaks the silence by saying, "Firstly, my name is Cinna. I'll be your stylist for the duration of your stay at the Capitol. I was your mother's good friend and I think I can be yours. The first task we need to overcome is your chariot roundabout. As for the actual outfit, I think we can go along the lines of your mother." I think back to what Haymitch said this morning. _The Capitol thinks you are your parents, so you have to act how your parents would_. I guess that includes dresses and shoes and fancy hair things. I might be able to trust this Cinna the stylist guy.

I close my eyes tight as Cinna instructs me to. "Okay, you can look now," he says. I then open my eyes to the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. It's light and breezy but covered in golden, red, and orange feathers that shimmer in the light. I have feathers on my arms too, each individually placed. The feathers alone would have taken hours. The most experienced and persevering expert I've seen. Or it could be the slavery thing. A crown of feathers adorn my flowing brown hair. The feathers at the bottom of my dress are black. I twirl and the feathers glitter and shine and seem to engulf me in feathered flame. I realize what I am. I am a flaming mockingjay.

My mother wore a mockingjay pin in the arena. The history of mockingjays is rather dark. Jabberjays were bred in labs by the Capitol during the major rebellion to record information from the rebels and report it back to them. When the rebels found out and sent back lies, the all male jabberjays were left in the wild to die, no longer of use. But before they completely became extinct they mated with the female mockingbirds and created the mockingjays. They can't record whole conversations, but they can record parts of other bird's songs. Still though, it's been rumored that the Capitol still has jabberjays at ready use. My mom's ally, Rue, knew about mockingjays and taught her a four-note tune. Rue died from a spear wound and my mom sang her to death, or at least that's what I've heard since my mom won't let me near the old games films sent by the Capitol as a gift. They're currently rotting in the old attic.

I smile at Cinna and he smiles back. Then he leads me to the stable of tribute chariots. Horses stand around nervously tethered. Neighing is almost inaudible though. Cinna helps me step into one beside Colden dressed in the same colors, but not so much bird feathers. "Smile," is all he says, then he leaves and the chariot from District 1 rolls calmly through the stable and out through the square. The ride will lead all the way to the Training Center, where we'll be staying. Districts 2 and 3 soon follow suit. Ours will be last, as we're the last district. We might be the ones they're looking forward to the most though. After District 11 rolls through I straighten my dress and adjust my multi-colored head feathers. Then the black stallions pull us to the crowd and I see a second of astonished seas of faces, then the whole crowd breaks into a huge ruckus. People cheer and wave. I start to wave back and people give small screams. I blow kisses and people try to tackle each other to catch them. The light dances off my feathers and makes me in a glittery flame. Capitol citizens are going crazy over me. I guess my parents left more excitement than I thought.

Our path, as predicted, ends at the towering Training Center. My beauty squad (Octavia, Venia, and Flavius) are there along with Cinna, Effie, and Haymitch. They help me step off the chariot and into the Training Center with its smooth glass floors and many glass windows. The slippery tiles are even harder to walk in with high heels. Effie, Haymitch, Colden, and I enter one of the many metal elevators, leaving my beauty squad and Cinna behind. I feel as though Cinna's my only friend in the Capitol, far away from home. He helped my mother and I'm sure he helped me. I try to remember the faces and looks of the tributes in chariots, but they blur. The Career tributes looked deadly, but they're always deadly. Career tributes come from Districts 1,2, and 4, where they are trained for the Hunger Games even though it's against the rules. They're the ones that usually win because they team up and take down the weaker tributes after the bloodbath. They control the Cornucopia after it and, using the Cornucopia as their main source of food and weapons, hunt down everyone else. At the end they split up and kill each other. Brute force with no brains, they'll be my biggest problem.

I didn't see anybody else I recognized, but I'll see them at training tomorrow so it doesn't matter now. Our elevator reaches the twelfth floor and I step out to see our quarters. It's nice and airy. Being at the penthouse the windows overlook the top skyscrapers in the Capitol. "I can see my house from here," I hear Effie say and it's so off topic I break out laughing. Everyone looks at me but I don't care. If I'm going to die, might as well laugh like an idiot while I still have the chance. When I'm done giggling Effie leads me to my room. By the look on her face, I think she thinks I'm a weirdo. My room has a large inviting emerald green bed, a mahogany desk including a velvet chair, and a nine-shelved bookshelf. A remote sits on the single milky white nightstand. I walk over casually and tap a random blue button. The wall to my left erupts with color and I jump five feet in the air. I turn to gaze at a perfect appearance of an ocean, so perfect I feel like touching the sand and feeling the salty wind in my hair. I've never see an ocean, been to a beach, or even seen a large body of water like a lake but I think this is what it looks like. I hit the same button again and I see the Capitol. I can hear the honks of car horns and the chat of people far below, but the wind swishing through the skyscrapers is the loudest. The next picture is one of a hot, dry desert with prickly cacti and rusted maroon mountains in the far distance. I can almost feel the heat coming off the rocks and the mountains shimmer with heat waves.

Then there's a field of corn as tall as the smaller trees back at home. It grows into a sea of endless green and yellow. Puffy clouds dot the baby blue sky. A picture of District 7's forest is next. It's not like ours, denser, bigger. The trees are looming with huge trunks and roots bigger than my arm. Their branches cloud the dark sky. The last one is our forest, or what I think is our forest. It's clean and fresh. I can see why my mom hunted here. Pines sit patiently for while a squirrel sits frozen in a tree. The pictures... they seem so real. I'm suddenly brought back from my exaggerated visions and to reality when I realize they're just that but it's too late.

_Chapter Three_

The nightmare before me is one I know I'll never forget. Ruins, thousands of ruins. Rubble of destroyed homes lay forgotten in the fog of sickly green smoke that swirls up through the trash and debris and into the blackened sky. Skeletons of men, women, children, and animals lay smoldering and forgotten. Cries of lonely mockingjays seem to throb in my ears, though where the sound is coming from I don't know. Nothing seems to exist in the mounds and mounds of shuddering horror. The green smoke swirls around my feet and I feel it slithering into my lungs like a snake, making it impossible to breath cleanly. My eyes sting but it won't stop me from seeing a glimpse of a world left behind by an apocalypse. Robbed of its hopes and dreams and livelihood and thoughts and joy. Then I start to see something else.

As if a ray of sunlight was shining on the remains, the world begins to rebuild itself. The houses begin to reform and reshape until I'm looking at what was once District 13, a small mining town not unlike my home. People bustle through the tiled city square buying clothes and food. One little girl is pulling her parents over to a lonely puppy. "Can we get him momma, please?" she asks. The girl reminds me of Susie. A group of teenagers hang out next to one of the shops while poor women admire jewelry presented by a mustached salesman. The bakery next door wafts delicious smells of cinnamon rolls into the late evening air. Library bells gently cling as buyers enter and depart. The orange rays shine on the shops, turning them darkly hued but still vibrant. Peacekeepers chat with the citizens like they do back in District 12. Some of them are my best friends. An overly large man strides through the square with obvious authority. I realize he must be the mayor of District 13. "Nice belt, Mr. Buckingham," someone says, pointing out the fact that Mr. Buckingham's belt is stretched all the way around his bulging belly. Mr. Buckingham searches frantically for whomever said it, causing people to snicker and giggle more. The sweating huffs, then straightens his navy blue coat and moves on. A outdoor bar sits behind me so I overhear a man talking to his friend in a low voice and I scoot closer to eavesdrop. In the dieing like of the sun, I make out the two huddled close over their drinks, as if they don't want anyone to overhear their conversation. I hobble close enough to hear what they are about to say. Suddenly, the first bearded miner whips around and stares right at me. No... through me. I realize being in the past doesn't mean you're in the present. I'm ghostly, non-existent to the District 13 inhabitants. I sigh and scoot closer to the couple of miners. The man whips back around but they start speaking so quietly I can still only catch words like "cruel"... "take back"... and "rebellion."

I immediately find myself staring at the peach colored floor, no, that's not right. It must be the ceiling. I warily stand up and realize I must've fallen asleep. Then I look at the wall. An almost perfect replica of District 12's forest. it even still has the squirrel perched in the bough of a tree. But that can't be possible. Where is the haunting picture I saw? It must be that there was no picture of District 13. That it was somehow all a dream of some sort. But it had seemed so real, the smoke, the city square, everything. Was that really what District 13 had looked like a hundred years ago and today? The scary ruins of war and the angry cries of mockingjays. I hear a knock on the door. It's Effie, calling me to breakfast. I quickly dress in a simple gray shirt and pants, then head down to greet Haymitch, Colden, and Effie. I grab an egg and sit across from Haymitch. We're supposed to start our Capitol training for the Games at nine o'clock, but Haymitch suggests we go earlier as everyone might be.

The elevator ride is awkwardly silent. Colden is staring out the left window and I have no intention of confronting him. About what? _Sorry you have to die, Colden. Hope you live at least four hours in the Hunger Games_. The Hunger Games. Even the name sends shivers down my spine and makes my hair stand on end and my blood run ice cold. I remember about being independent, strong. I can't fail because failing means death, and I don't want to die. To die in the Hunger Games. To meet the fate those people in District 13 did. I can't die like them, being forgotten in ashes and snakelike smoke. I hear the small ding that signals the elevator opening and we step out to the training part of the Training Center. The stations line up against navy blue walls, the same color as Mr. Buckingham's golden buttoned coat. Eighteen tributes are already here so I silently thank Haymitch upstairs. The instructor greets us with rest of them. I get a good first look around at my new competition.

The first two must be from District 1 and they look related, cousins maybe. District 2 is just the same. Buff, and big meanies. It's the opposite for the next district though. The scrawny girl and boy don't look like much trouble. District 4 is just a small girl, probably twelve, and she won't be accepted into the Career pack like most District 4 tributes. The tall red-haired girl might be some trouble. I carefully observe the other tributes and plan just how great the odds of my survival are. There are seven big tributes but the rest are pretty pathetic. The four Careers obviously, the boy from four and five, the girl from eight. Our instructor Ana starts talking when the rest of us arrive. "Now, before you pick up a giant sword and whack dummies in the noggin, remember to try the other stations too. Learning how to throw a knife won't save you from starvation or thirsty or freezing to death. The more stations you complete, the better your survival chances will be. And remember, the Gamemakers are watching you and _they_ will decide your score after the next three days. Show them you can win these Games, and your score will show it."

When Ana finishes her speech and the stations start, I head immediately over to plants. Maybe I can show the Gamemakers something I'm sure the Careers won't already excel at. The teacher seems excited to see me. I'm sure my mother succeeded at this station because of her years battling for survival by eating flowers. The instructor seems rather disappointed I'm not as good as her, but I know some things and he taught me more. Then I move to camouflage. I think it might be the Peeta in me, but my hand suddenly turns into a tree limb in a matter of seconds. The instructor can't teach me any new techniques, so I walk over to the next station. Before I get there I hear a clatter and whip around to locate the sound. The Careers and that dangerous girl from District 7 stand over by the archery range. I spot metal arrows on the floor by the girl's feet. She must have dropped them.

The boy from District 1 has got a smirk on his face and I suddenly understand everything even before I hear him say, "Are you clumsy at everything, tree girl?" They're teasing her. I just can't help it. If there's anything I absolutely loathe, it's bullying. The fact that someone can hurt people just for pure enjoyment drives me way over the edge. I stomp over there, not even knowing what to say.

"Hey, you'd better stop," I growl through clenched teeth. "Oh look, it's the bow girl. Where's your pathetic petty parents now?" the District 2 girl sneers. "Did they die already 'cause they should have," the boy from District 2 jabs.

"My parents raised me much better than you," I spat with clenched fists. Everyone else is looking at us now, even the instructors and especially the Gamemakers. The boy's sneer is gone. "Watch your tone." "Watch your back!" I then pick up a bow and an arrow from the floor. Then I draw it and send the metal arrow somewhere on the wooden target ahead without even looking. I wait for their cruel laughter because I've completely missed the intended target. It doesn't come. Only shocked faces. The girl from District 7's face has the upmost respect shown. I dare to look at the target only when I've returned the bow, picked up the two remaining arrows, and moved to the station I tried to go to earlier. I had hit the very middle of the bright red bullseye.

The last day I go to the station next to spear throwing and knots seem harder than any others I've faced. I am never good at tying knots. During a typically difficult snare that I was having extreme difficulty with I heard a voice next to me say, "It's over then under." I turn to my right and see the tall boy from District 4. He wasn't hanging out with the Careers at the swords like District 4 does. They like the Careers except not as ruthless. Was he actually pre-allied with them? Now that I get a closer look at him, he's kind of cute. _No_, I tell myself. I can't afford to make friends. I remember the costume he wore at the parade. It was a airy,blue, light tunic with a wreath a gold in his hair. He looked nice. He was apparently really good at tying knots. The boy looked up from his own rope to me. I saw his eyes, deep green and blue, weathered down by sadness and unbelievable pain. Then he quickly looks back at his rope and I do too. "So... who are your parents?" I ask rather shyly. "Finnick and Annie Odair," he mumbles. "Who are yours?" he asks quickly, still fiddling with the rope. "Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark," I reply. He nods and then, finishing the knot, moves on to spear throwing. No allies, no friends, but maybe I won't kill Finnick Odair's son right away.

The rest of the stations pass by quickly and soon we're called for lunch. I single file to trays with the other kids and grab a sandwich and grapes. Then I sit alone at one of the three metal table. The Careers crowd one with Districts 5, 6, 8, 9 while the rest sit at the other table. "Hey." The scrawny girl from District 3 sits next to me. "I'm Tecna!" she says and sticks out her hand. I shake tentatively and go back to my sandwich. I'm still not making friends. Before I take a bite Tecna asks, "So, you're Sage, right?" I sigh and answer, "Yes, my name's Sage." Then I quickly take a chunk before she asks anything else. "My mom's Wiress and my dad's Beetee. Your mom's the "girl on fire," right? I thought that was sort of misleading because..." Tecna drones on and on about the whole "girl on fire" theory and how it can't physically make sense. "Don't even get me started about the whole anatomy of the situation..." she says while I finish my the last of my sandwich and pluck the final grape. They begin to call tributes for private performances in front of the Gamemakers.

We show off all of our skills and receive a score from one to twelve. This helps a lot with the betting on how long we'll survive and how many people we'll kill. Only three people have ever gotten a twelve before in a hundred years. Two of them were Careers. I have no idea of what to do. I hear the Careers saying their throwing maces and District 6 might be doing painting stuff. I should probably try that and shoot some arrows. Tecna is called and I suddenly feel very alone. Then I straighten and try to look a little confident then I feel. I don't need allies, friends, partners, none of them. I'm alone in this cruel world. As far as I'm concerned, I'm only trusting Cinna. Everyone goes out ahead of me because I'm the girl from District 12. Colden leaves without a word. I wonder what he's going to do. I didn't really see him in the stations a lot. After what seems like a century (it could my nerves making time long) my name is called. I stand and walk into the room.

Gamemakers seem rather bored after seeing twenty-three kids. I try camouflage and get a few people clapping. Then I move to the bow and arrows. I draw one and pull it to my cheek, then let it fly. It hit a ways from the bullseye. Some of the Gamemakers have lost interest in me. I begin to get frustrated and I pull another arrow. I send it flying into the knife dummy's heart halfway across the room. I turn to the Gamemakers shocked faces and I smile. I think they've made the same ignorance mistake before. Then I notch another and it flies clear through a rope hanging from the knots station, probably Hondel's. I set the bow back down. I could just be done, go to the fire station or something, but I have this strange feeling.

I remember the ruins of District 13 and the innocent laughing people in the square. All of those people dead, gone, and it's all the Capitol's fault. All of the tributes dead from the past ninety-nine Games. The tributes I met today that will be dead if I'm to survive. The skulls, the tributes, the future skeletons. I walk quietly back over to camouflage station, which has them all confused. I then dip one finger in the red paint, one in the blue, and my ring finger in the gray. Then I put them together and press them against my lips and show them to the Gamemakers. A sign of remembrance, of luck, of goodbye. It was the signal in the uprising twenty-five years ago. I can't wait for their reactions. I turn around and walk away.

I slide to the elevator bottom and bury my head in my with arms. What was I thinking?! Now I've probably screwed any chance of winning the Gamemaker's favor. I don't know if you can get a zero, but there is always a first for everything. I run the whole thing through my head again. I was really good with the arrow and camouflage, so maybe they'll give me a one. But probably not. I screwed that too. I feel like I've screwed everything. When the door opens I reluctantly stand and walk to my room, ignoring the questioning look from Haymitch and Colden sitting at the table. "What happened?" Effie asks concerned. I mumble something about stupidest tribute ever and close the door. Then I fling myself on my bed and start sobbing. So much for trying to be tough.

I sit there, lonely and hopeless. I might actually not win the Hunger Games after all. But the scores might not be everything. I can still fight, I still have knowledge. With a bad score, no one will bother me or target me first, so I'll have a little time. I heard of a girl who did just that, deceived everyone until the end. But I don't come outside when they ask me to. I don't want to see the awful score I already know I will get. I just sit and slowly accept my horrible fate. Then Effie opens my door and says something. The sound is muffled by the sheets and I'm glad. I'd rather not hear condolences about my loss. Then I hear something like "had to change schedule" "having interviews tonight" and something about a... "Ball?" I say, getting out of my tangled sheets and turning to Effie. She nods and explains again. "The Capitol had to change schedule due to timing issues, so they're having interviews tonight and in your very honor, having a Victory Ball since you guys are the tribute's children. I suggest you'd better get ready for the interviews. We haven't much time and they're in just two hours. By the way, congratulations on your score." She says this all in a matter of two seconds so it takes a while to piece the information together. I get up from bed and walk over to the table where Haymitch is sitting. "I guess you'll go with Haymitch then," Effie chirps, then she's bounding off to do who knows what with Colden.

"We need an approach to give you," Haymitch says with weird seriousness. Then he has me try all of these different personalities. Funny, shy, brave, shining, and many more. I let down every single one. After I try even fake stuttering, he gives up. Throwing his hands in the air he exclaims,

"You're just like your mother. The only advice I can give is be yourself. Though I not really sure you have a self. At least not a social one." Effie prances in and drops off Colden, then takes me into a room where I walk around in high heels, which is harder than it looks. The dress I use isn't the dress for my actual interview but it's heavy and long I'm tripping left and right. When Effie thinks I'm done I collapse on the couch in exhaustion. Then another question hits me. What was my score? Effie said congratulations. Did she mean it or was she being sarcastic. I've never seen a sarcastic Capitol citizen, but I haven't met very many Capitol citizens. At least I didn't get one or two. Maybe even a three, but I think that's being too optimistic.

Cinna dresses me up in a dazzling dress for the interview. It's short and a simple yellow with tiny sparkles all the way to the shoes. I'm covered in more makeup than last time, but I'm okay with it. We're called to line up and I realize I haven't really had time to worry about the interview until I sit there and wait, losing my confidence by each passing minute. The tributes. They are so good. Someone must have told them too, because they're exact replicas of their parents and the Capitol crowd is going wild. Soon district one, then two and three, and I'm waiting for the boy from District 4, Finnick's son, to end when something he says catches my attention. "I'm sure you'll make a fine tribute this year, Hondel," says Caesar Flickerman, the charmed interviewer for the Games. Hondel. That's his name. It's nice and reminds me of the ocean I've never seen. Hondel smiles and replies, "Wish I could try to be the victor too."

That has everyone in confusion, especially me, who's been lenient on the fact. Caesar frowns and asks, "Well why don't you?" Hondel frown and bites his lip. He then explains, "Because there's this girl I met, in the Training Center, and I think I might have a crush on her. No, I know love her, I'm sure, so... it's just kind of hard to kill someone you love... you know?" The Capitol is in hysterics. The shocked girls of Hondel's new fan club break into to tears, a few people give small yelps of surprise, some of the stylists give exaggerated gasps, citizens stand frozen in place with a look of pure shock on their colored faces while others whisper nervously fast about who it could be. Caesar waits for the fuss to die down, then he asks Hondel the question I suddenly and hauntingly realize that I already know the answer to. "Who is this girl?" Caesar inquires. Then Hondel looks me in the eye and whispers, "Sage Mellark."

_Chapter Four_

Great, now I'm copying my mom. Star-crossed from Districts 12 and 4. Of course I'll have to love him back. Maybe it won't be so hard. I already kind of like him. But kissing multiple times in front of the whole entire nation? I don't know if I'm up for it. The Capitol has recovered from their emotional catastrophe but the tributes coming after don't make a dent on the power of the fans. They're all staring at me and waiting with all their patience, which isn't a lot. Caesar Flickerman gives up around District 7. They start to get really excited when the girl from District 11 is called and she unfortunately thinks it's about her. I'm going to have to rethink my whole strategy of these interviwes, and even the Hunger Games in general.

The Capitol really wants to know what I think of all of this. What do I think? I think the Hunger Games is horrible, cruel entertainment and the Capitol is full weird people in clothing that makes me sick. But I won't say that. No, I want sponsors but I'm sure I'll get lots without even trying. My name is called and stand. When I sit in the chair next to Caesar the crowd leans forward to catch every word. "So Sage, the Capitol seems pretty excited about Hondel's confession of love..." So that's what they call it here. A confession of love. Thanks a lot Hondel. "... what do you think about this?" I think for a minute. What do _I_ think of this? And what does the Capitol want me to think of this? "Well Caesar, I met Hondel in the Training Center too, and I have to say that I felt a deep connection to him. I think that loving him simply couldn't describe the power and chemistry I have with Hondel Odair." Then I give a shy smile and I watch as the Capitol break out in excited glee as is their announcing two Hunger Games in one year. They're very excited. Two tributes dramatically falling for eachother. I nailed it.

The rest of the interview goes exactly as planned. I apparently turn out to be a shy starstruck lover scared of what to come yet ready to stand up for her "boyfriend." Colden is hardly cared about during his interview. Maybe the fact that his dad is a drunk or the fact that he's not very talkative or the fact that everyone is drooling over me and Hondel. The Capitol gives a big round of applause when the interviews are over. Mostly for the two of us. Now I have another task only made harder because of Hondel's "confession of love" for me. The Victor's Ball.

I go straight back to the dressing room where I sit quietly, waiting for Cinna. He comes and I hurriedly stand. Then he smiles and I relax and return it. "Close your eyes," he demands rather humorously. He puts the dress on me. The fabric feels like silk. "I had a talk with your lover's stylist and since you have the first dance, well, I thought we'd take a different approach." Great, me and Hondel have the first dance. What approach though? Cinna does my hair in some kind of bun. When I'm finally allowed to peek I gasp in astonishment.

I black as night and yet covered in specks of light. No, they're stars. Thousands and millions of stars. I have a crescent moon embedded my hair. I am covered in glitter. I look like a perfect impression of the starry night sky back at home. Like the nights I used to sneak out late when I was young. I lay in the grass and watch them twinkle like flashlights in the darkness. I did that for weeks until I accidentally fell asleep under those same stars. My mother freaked out and when she found me she demanded that I never, ever go outside in the dark again. She kept saying that I could've been eaten by bears or worse. I really didn't believe her but that did not stop my inability to see the stars that close... I watched them from my window for a while, but it wasn't the same. Behind glass I was trapped, someone else. I wasn't me, but near those stars I was. I was someone else. A happy self. A pure self. My own self. Eventually I gave up, the pain of longing was too much. I gave up wanting to be one with the stars, to fly freely. I forgot the feeling and I might never reach it again.

Cinna hands me over to the two peacekeepers that lead me to a wooden door. One door, that's all it is. I grab the handle, turn and open, putting the starry thoughts out of my head hopefully for good. When I close it behind me I receive amazed gasps from the rich Capitol attendees. The tributes stand in corners waiting for the dancing to start or just to be out of main crowd full of partiers. Across the room I see Hondel. His clothes are just as awesome as mine. He's the opposite though. Covered in puffy, light clouds among a luscious aquamarine sky that seem to reach on forever and ever. We slowly to meet at the center of the room. Then he places his hand on my shoulder and one on my hip. Then we start.

We dance and drink really good but suspicious looking Capitol punch. It reminds of the District 12 proms my school throws. They're usually dusty and students just talk in dreary outfits.

The other tributes wear isn't as good as ours. District 1 is puffy and gold while District 2 is blocky. Hours pass like minutes in the blurry haze of talking and punch and dancing and punch. Finally the ball is concluded and the tables are cleared by avoxes. Hondel stands by as me as they pick up the last cups of half consumed, still suspicious punch. "Do want me to take you up?" he asks me. I nod and we enter the elevator, last of the tributes and Capitol partygoers to go. The elevator ride is quiet. Cars fly by below in the streets while Capitols parade around in fancy suit and plastic framed dresses. When we reach the top floor I turn and say, "Thanks, for the night, I mean." He nods in understanding and I step out to my floor. I watch as the door closes and he descends to the District 4 quarters that seem thousands of miles away.

I see the president sitting at long table. Where is Effie, Haymitch, or Colden? As if reading my mind, the president explains, "I asked them to leave so I could talk to you privately. Please, take a seat, Ms. Mellark" He gestures at the chair across from him. I nervously oblige and when I'm facing him he says in creepy smooth tone, "Now Ms. Mellark, I'm sure you're aware that your mother was in the Hunger Games as well? Good, then I'm sure you're aware of that little rule revision she did. You see that small incident started a little hustle in the districts and it would be... much appreciated if it didn't happen again. We had to use certain extents to calm everyone down and I would be frustrated to have to do that again." He stares me directly in the eye. His cold black ones against my stormy gray ones. The difference is that his eyes show experience while my are still young and fragile, but that'll change very soon.

I nod in agreement. "Good then. I had best be off. I have a meeting," he says off topic and gets up to leave. "Oh," he says turning to me, "May the odds be ever in your favor, Ms. Mellark." Then he's gone leaving me sitting alone at the table. He accomplished the one thing that he had set out to do. Bring me back to the reality of the situation. Far away from the parties and fancies of the Capitol. Away from the sparkling dresses and charming interviews. Back to the cold dead feeling of the Games that has kept the districts in line for a hundred years. One victor, on winner, one champion. Do I want to win the Hunger Games? The first time I asked myself this question I was determined to win but now I realize that I am covered with new problems and one of them is Hondel. One of us is dying and one of us isn't. But do I really want to come back a lonely victor? I'm silently hoping we both get killed by the Careers or those other big tributes, but it seems like a long shot.

Since the interviews were moved up we have a whole day to ourselves. The tributes are supposed to meet together for breakfast but I don't feel like going. I can't face Hondel. "Just go for the end. They're having chocolate strawberries," Effie says, "Plus, you could keep an Colden for me." I know she really wants me to even though she's trying not to sound concerned. I reluctantly agree and throw a white shirt and shorts on with tennis shoes. I hop in the elevator alone and ride down to the ground floor. The metal doors open to a mostly empty elongated table. The only ones left are Tecna, a boy from District 5, Colden, and yes, Hondel. I walk over to Colden but he already knows that Effie put me up to it. "I think all just walk around the Capitol for a while." Then he's gone and Tecna and the boy from five have mysteriously disappeared as well. That leaves me and Hondel, the very thing I dreaded.

"Do you want to see the rest of the Capitol with me?" Hondel asks. I can't say no. He stands up and walks me out the door. A couple people point but most of them leave us alone. I have a feeling the respect that it might be the last day we have together. We. I'm still getting used to that. "Is that ice cream?" I raise my eyebrows and ask. I gesture lightly at the small white cart parked outside a cafe. "Yeah, you want some?" Hondel says. I nod and we get two identical chocolate cones. "I've never had ice cream," I say. "Me neither," Hondel replies. We agree to try it at the same time. "Three, two, one," Hondel says. I'm so nervous that I accidently smudge it on my nose. Hondel laughs and wipes away the ice cream off my face. We finish them as we walk through the streets that seem to wind forever. A couple people wave hello and jump in the air. We eat lunch at some fancy restaurant. The owner is almost in tears and practically begs me on his knees to try his latest masterpiece. A green and white soup with clumps of bleak orangish blue. I have trouble keeping a straight face as I tell him it's absolutely wonderful. Then he actually breaks into tears and hugs me then orders everyone in the restaurant free food. He names the soup after me.

We try on funky glasses at some accessory store and tread the streets again. The sun starts to set. "I have the perfect idea!" Hondel exclaims. He starts heading down a lane and I follow him. Hondel won't explain until we reach the base of the second tallest building in the Capitol. It's called the C.S.N.T, or the Capitol Science National Tower. The jabberjays, insects called tracker jackers, and many other animal mutations came from the building in front of us. I'm pretty sure they designed the nuclear bombs used in the rebellion a hundred years ago and the uprising twenty-five years ago. The ones with green smoke that leave trails of death in their wake. Are we going to spit on it. They might arrest for skyscrapers harassment. Hondel taps my shoulder and points to the sun that is almost faded away in the black. "See that sunset?" he asks. I nod and watch as the brilliant rays of orange and yellow swim across the sky. The tower isn't allowed for public use, but Hondel gets us a ride to the very top.

When the door opens I'm amazed to find I can still see the sun, a couple minutes from disappearing, yetit was doing the same thing only moments before on the ground. I turn to see Hondel staring at the brilliant sun too. "You see, we're so high up that we get to see the same sunset a second time. I stand next to the edge of the iron fence and take a deep breath of the clean cool air unlike the many perfumes and gases down below in the Capitol. Up here it's free and light. I feel like I can fly. Just like I did so many years ago with the same cool air blowing through my hair but stars are just coming into the sky. I feel free. I feel... the weight of the world forces me back down. I step down and walk around the corner. I suddenly slip in a puddle of water that must've been open because we're so high. Hondel catches me mid-fall and scoops me up in his arms. I then throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. It feels real. Just like the flashlight stars and the wind and the night. I then begin to find it, the feeling I had so long ago. I haven't reached it fully though, and I'm a very long way away. But maybe I'm one step closer. Just one step closer to finding myself again. My true self.

I go to bed completely distraught. I have let myself slip and fall in love Hondel more than I want to. How can I look him in the eye and kill him? I know I won't be able to, which makes the situation all the worse. I wish I had never had that day with him. No, I take that back. I would still want that day with him. Maybe if I actually don't win, and he does, then I won't feel so bad. I'll die with happy memories. There is still a chance we could both die, and I hadn't really been thinking about that. But the Gamemakers will make sure we have the finale, which is the worst of it. Quells are always unexpected though. I may end up dieing by accident. Maybe it will be somewhat okay, but I still don't sleep well that night.

I'm kept half awake by the screams I know I'll hear in the bloodbath the next morning. The cries of sheer pain and begs for pitiful mercy. I imagine running and running through mounds of tribute's bodies. I wake up shivering in the morning. At least I slept the night. I need all the strength I have for the Games. I shower then throw some clothes on and head downstairs. I can't eat any breakfast no matter what they try to feed me. I drink some water, but barely. When we're done, Colden, Haymitch, Effie I stand by the elevator. Effie is in a wreck of tears and Haymitch looks somewhat forlorn. I hug Effie and nod to Haymitch, then Colden and I step in the cube to take us to our doom.

Half of the tributes sit in a hovercraft that will take us to the underground portion before the arena. It's supposed to begin at 9:00 and the hovercraft will make absolutely sure we get there on time. I watch the Capitol fade. Then the windows blank black and we're left alone with only the blue light from our secured chairs. These trackers were inserted in our arms to help locate us in the arena, whatever it will be. The arenas of quarter quells are always tricky and not in a good way. For the fiftieth Hunger Games, the one Haymitch was in, everything was poisonous. They called Poisonous Paradise. The seventy-fifth Hunger games was a barren landscape of dry, cracked dirt for miles and miles and miles. It's named Desert of Dirt for a good reason. I dread what this one will be, and they're sure to make it extra special for the victor's children. The hundredth annual Hunger Games is going to be one I'm sure no one will forget. Well, until they come up with a more exciting quell.

The small prepare room before the Games is tiled white and seems like a jail cell. Thankfully Cinna is there and he helps suit up in a simple white shirt, brown shorts, a thin brown jacket, and long dark brown boots. I can't guess what the arena will be from the clothes, but it must not be that could or too hot. The fabric's adaptable to many climates. The boots are for long travels and fast treading. Mainly running from killers. Cinna pulls something out of his pocket and gives it to me. It's the small gold ring Susie gave me what feels like eons ago. It is my one true memory of home. Of District 12. You're allowed to take one symbol your district. My mom to a pin and I'm taking a bracelet. I slip it on carefully and step in the tube that will sending me shooting into the arena. Twenty seconds until the tube closes. Before they do I ask Cinna, "What is my score?" "Eight, but your friend got a ten." A ten. That's what the Careers get. They might hunt him down. I realize Cinna called Hondel my friend, not my lover or boyfriend. I'm glad he respects the fact that I'm not ready to jump into the whole relationship thing. I glance at what might have been my last hope as the last ten seconds count down. The doors seal me inside and I give one last smile to Cinna, because I know he can keep sacred the last smile I will likely give anyone ever again.

We have sixty seconds to wait for the gong. Sixty seconds to accept our fate or die trying to not die. I look around the landscape to get a good view of one of my most important and deadly competition. The wild is my real enemy. They planned it good this year, because I finally realize what I'm looking at thirty seconds in the timer. Northwest I see skyscrapers of some kind of city. Probably full of death traps and collapsing buildings. To my northeast I see a large beach and peaceful waves lapping against the protruding dark rocks. I look behind me to see a giant field of grain and a grassy plain full of cows next to it. They remind me of the pictures on the wall in my room. The ones that must remind the other tributes of their homes. Then it hits me.

The Districts. The very clever and devious Gamemakers must have positioned mini versions of all of the Districts in order from one to twelve, which will be the smallest as it's the smallest district. The skyscrapers must be from District 3 and District 4 is the ocean, the biggest with a mini ocean. The two behind me are Districts 9 and 10 which are grain and livestock. Twelve seconds left on the timer. The number snaps me away from my observing and brings me back to the golden Cornucopia in honor of the quell. Ten seconds. I could possibly die in the next few minutes, the odds differ. Four seconds and my heart pounds so loud I think all of Panem can hear it beating. I'm really hoping the odds are in my favor for the next five minutes or so. Three, two, one, and the fight for survival begins...

End of Part 1


End file.
